


Look No Feather

by ThereminVox



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 18:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15612102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereminVox/pseuds/ThereminVox
Summary: “Bird puns are hawkward”, said ‘not John Seed’.





	Look No Feather

If there was one thing about Seed Ranch’s architecture that made Rook’s eye for interior design twitch with some indescribable emotion, it was likely the cougar guarded staircase that led, not directly to the master bedroom, but instead to a familiar balcony, where recent memories spawned of her Faith cosplay being utterly ruined by so-called “Peggie pranking season” along with the resulting parade of splinters from smoke grenades in too close proximity that made her once ornate dress a threadbare layering, with blistered, bare feet to spare.

 

She decided it was more or less hovering twinges of exasperation each time she glanced from the single door to the double set located beneath, adorned by a deer’s skull (weighed down by Bliss-infused flower crown). It was 2:45 in the dead of night, no Peggies to be seen and, strangely enough, no sight of the man in question who thought it was a dandy idea to make the rest of his house appear inaccessible, let alone having his bed well beyond reasonable walking distance.

 

_Exhibitionist bastard._

 

Although she couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of provoking him to his own projection of sinful decadence. The couch she was sat presented the perfect view for her wayward fantasies, overhead antler chandelier casting elegant backdrop of dim lighting above a dining table, clad in disarray.

 

A transient pang of grief overcame her as her gaze shifted to an empty space, once occupied by a certain beseeching fax machine. During her previous visit, the ranch had yet to be liberated, and, being the sly fox she was, Rook had once again slipped through the hangar (not before blowing a hot kiss at the Affirmation), ascended the stairs without alarming a single guard at the opposite door, and ziplined, undetected, to the adjacent roof, where only one skylight remained exposed. 

As usual, the man of the hour was unpunctual.

 

_Confessions are supposed to be private, he says._

_  
_ _I will open you, he sa- Shit!_

 

Her mocking remarks had been short-lived by an abrupt yet familiar crackle from the right hip.

 

_“Dep-yoo-tee~. To what do I owe the pleasure of casual home invasion? I’m sure the new county vulture has other places to retire her nest, hm?”_

 

Luckily, he wouldn’t be able to sense her sudden racing pulse, suggesting relief (and pleasure) at the sound of his voice.

 

“Ah, I wasn’t aware there were surveillance cameras. Or are you just being the not-so-subtle voyeur you are? Is that why the rest of this place is closed off and the windows are frosted? Not only is that a cliché analogy for your heart but I’m pretty sure the “Your soul cannot hide from me” only works when _I’m_ doing the hiding, _dear_.”

 

_“Depends on if I actually_ like _what I’m seeing and whether or not my meal is_ worth _catching. And using my own pet name against me? I see that archer is becoming a bad influence on that otherwise brilliant mind of yours.”_

 

Her skin alternated as a stark contrast to the beam of silver penetrating from the roof as she manoeuvres her way from the dining table and around towards the front entrance where a taxidermied bear secured the bearings of a hat and coat rack.

 

“Then I’d say you must _like_ me an awful lot to hide behind your own tail feather, _peacock_.”

 

_“Oh Deputy, if you wanted me to show off for you, one word can easily slip from that snide tongue and both our sins could be bared for…_ unanimous _confession.”_

 

“On another note, you wouldn’t have happened to misplace a cowboy hat, would you? Why not wear _that_ on your pretty little head instead of letting those shades do a poor job of holding you together? …Well, what’s left of you, at least.”

 

_“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”_

 

“Whatever you want it to mean, country boy. I guess you aren’t spying on me after all if you can’t see that I’m wearing your hat.”

 

_“ **Just** the hat?”_

 

Rook could almost hear his Cheshire grin from the other side of the radio.

Although the earnest voice revealed nothing.

 

“Annd Faith’s dress. But there’s definitely nothing beneath. If that tickles your fancy.”

 

His resonant chuckle offers a cursory taste of animation in the deafening stillness, and damn if her heart didn’t betray.

 

_“Enjoy your stay, bird.  
_ _Shake a tail feather.”_

 

On the opposite end of transmission, one crouching man renounces his hold on a pair of binoculars, nimble hands loosening shades sat upon the bridge of his nose to push back upon the head in dexterous fashion. John Seed’s aviators were a special breed of lapis lazuli to accentuate. He opted to indulge himself a few more imprudent seconds, reluctant to renounce his avid gaze as each waxing contour of errant flesh slipped deliciously in and out of view from his heightened position on the platform.

 

In a few days time, she would return and he would resume his reign, perched upon (what he considered) the tallest tree, both waiting patiently. Seizing the ripest moment to spread their wings, and strike.

 

Although, if she had decided to explore the balcony once more, she wouldn’t have failed to recognize the unmistakable glint of a Gucci belt fading in the distance as well as the faint wisp of a sheet of paper taped to the bark, adorned by fancy handwriting.

 

 

_Look_

_No_

_Feather_

_;)_


End file.
